


Hallowed Be Thy Name

by nicKnack22



Series: Cat's in the Cradle [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Season/Series 08, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Childhood Trauma, Dad Cas, Dean-Centric, Domestic, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Growing Up, Happy Ending, Here Be Monsters, Love, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Purgatory, Uncle Benny, chosen family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:10:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4142382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicKnack22/pseuds/nicKnack22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is no one's father...but he becomes a parent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hallowed Be Thy Name

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Cas-centric companion to my ongoing work Cat's in the Cradle (Chapters 1-8). You don't have to read that to read this, but it will probably make more sense if you do.

Castiel is no one’s father. 

Angels do not bear children. They do not reproduce. They were never meant to build families the way that humans do. Angels were not created to be fathers, they were created to serve The Father: as warriors, protecting and worshiping his Creation. 

Castiel has only known one father: his father—The Father—a title that Castiel once spoke with reverence, respect, and awe. He accepted his absence, his distance, for over a millennium. It was only in the very few years in which Castiel roamed the earth in the company of humans (in the company of Dean and Sam and Bobby) that Castiel came to view his father differently. The word itself became tainted for him, tarnished. Father came to mean absence and remoteness. Father indicated someone who was never there when you needed him; father meant unanswered prayers, travelling the world, slipping through time and space, weak, tired, afraid, and finding…nothing, no one, not a scrap of kindness, nor a hint of love. Father came to signify loneliness, bitterness, anger, abandonment, distrust.

Castiel is no one’s father, nor has he ever had the desire to be. Nevertheless, when he sees the child for the first time, something changes fundamentally, deeply within him. 

*

He did not go searching for Emma. He had no notion that she existed. It was fate, or, as Dean would perhaps insist, coincidence, that Castiel stumbled upon her. 

Dean had suggested that they fan out; Benny and Castiel had been bickering all day, and, to be honest, Castiel craved a small reprieve. The vampire irked him. Dean warned Castiel not to wander too far with a sharp look. He gripped his shoulder, and Castiel wanted to lean into the touch as much as he knew that he needed, for Dean’s safety, to pull away. 

They moved slowly through the broken landscape, each in their own way, but all shrouded in darkness and gloom. Castiel walked in silence for a time during which he cast watchful glances at his surroundings, all the while thinking of Dean: his insistence that Castiel should follow him, escape this place. He thought of how much he longed to go, knowing how much he needed to stay. The sounds of a scuffle just slightly to his left, drew him from his thoughts. He tilted his head considering, letting his blade drop into his hand and flipping it between his fingers. It could be nothing, but it could be something. He focused his senses on the source of the noise. Better to be safe than sorry as Dean sometimes said. There was definitely a vampire, one that Castiel could easily dispose of, indeed it might be cathartic to do so. The second party in the skirmish; however, Castiel squinted, was…odd. His brows furrowed, his senses relaying something impossible.

In this place of darkness of abomination, he sensed something bright. For the first time in a (thankfully) long while, Castiel doubted his own perception, and it was enough to spur him into action. When Castiel stepped into the clearing, he was momentarily arrested by the sight before him. There was indeed a vampire, fully grown and menacing, the type of damned creature that Castiel had come to expect from this fetid place. Castiel barely glanced at it, his entire attention immediately drawn to what the monster fought: a child, small and fierce, with a soul as luminous as any that Castiel had ever seen. The vampire tried to get its teeth into the small creature, who struggled fiercely to defend itself, bleeding profusely from a tear in its arm. 

Castiel moved forward instantly, purposefully, like the warrior of God he once had been. He struck down the vampire with a palm to its forehead and a burning flash of his grace. There was something oddly satisfying, he thought, as it screamed in pain before falling to the leaf strewn ground, eyes smoking craters in its head. 

The child’s soul was like a small sun at his back; it reached out to him, unconscious and desperate, warmth radiating in waves towards his grace. Castiel had not felt a connection so strong in years, not since he pulled a man from hell, cradled in the heart of himself. When Castiel turned to look upon it, the child stared up at him with wide, wild eyes in a filthy, emaciated face. Castiel had had little interaction with children, but its expression was both familiar and easily legible: it was the expression of someone who never expected to be saved, who didn’t believe that they deserve to be saved; who was shocked to have been given a momentary reprieve, and yet waited, ultimately, for the final blow that surely must be coming. It was, in short, identical to the expression that Castiel saw upon Dean’s face when first he beheld him. 

Castiel did not know that Dean had had a child. There is much from the time after his most recent death that Castiel did not know. Dean deflected Castiel’s questions on the subject on the very few occasions in which there had been time and sufficient courage for Castiel to bring it up. But standing there in that moment, while wide hazel eyes gazed up at him in succor, there was no doubt in his mind from whence this child had come. This was Dean’s child. Castiel could feel it, could see it: in the fierce way that it had fought to survive in dire and impossible circumstances, in the brightness of the soul reaching out to Castiel, in the look on its face, as though it had never seen a kindness in its life. This being could be no one else. Castiel stared in wonder at the small face, gently reached out two fingers, and brushed them against its forehead. 

“Don’t be afraid, little one,” he said as gently as he could, “I won’t hurt you.”

It followed his movements warily, watching him closely, perhaps afraid that he would dispatch with it the way that he did the vampire. When he laid his fingers against her skin, she released the breath she’d been holding, startled by his light touch and surprised to be alive. Castiel wished suddenly and fiercely that he had given the vampire a slower death, a more painful one, as he assessed the injuries the girl bore. 

Castiel did not have the power to heal in this place. That skill was, in particular, dampened and blanketed, but he could at least sooth her. He let his grace wash over her, a calming touch against her soul. He was startled, pleasantly so, when her soul responded to the touch, reaching towards him, holding on tightly, clinging to the warmth and peace he offered. 

It didn’t take more than a brief brush of grace to know who and what she was: Amazon born, begotten of a mating, murdered before she could complete her initiation, trapped here now, forever in limbo, neither human nor goddess blessed. Castiel sighed and sat back on his heels, his wings extended towards her. They contemplated one another. The child gazed at him in something like wonder, and Castiel’s expression easily mirrored hers. He could not deny that he was happy she did not kill her progenitor, but he regretted her presence here. No child deserved this hell. Her soul maintained a tie to his grace, unconscious, warm, holding tightly to him. Castiel allowed this, almost welcomed it, it had been so long since he had felt a connection. She was bright, this child, strong. Superficially her soul was chaotic, frightened, frantic, but at its core, she was like a summer day. Gold and green and blue. Castiel clenched his jaw and rose to his feet, slowly. He would not let anyone else try to snuff out that light. 

He called for Dean.

*

Dean and Benny stand guard while Castiel leads Emma to the stream. He cleans her wounds with river water, removing debris and dirt. She hisses slightly, grimaces through Castiel’s ministrations, but she keeps her body as still as she can. She doesn’t pull away. He is honored by this show of trust, honored that she believes that he is not trying to hurt her, but instead trying to help. It is humbling to witness such a leap of faith. Castiel feels unworthy of it. 

He sings softly to her to distract them both. It’s more of a chant really, the oldest one he knows in a human tongue. It’s a song of blessing and thanks. The hard syllables and rounded vowels feel good on his tongue, and Emma relaxes, as much as is possible for a being who has never before been given the chance to do so. She watches Castiel intently with wide eyes, listening avidly, as he scrubs at her face and allows water to run through her hair. It drips on her nose and glistens in droplets in her eyelashes, the illusion of tears she is unable or unready to shed. He scrubs her skin with the pebbled sand from the shallows. He manages to remove at least some of the dirt and dried blood that has caked her skin for so long. Her arm is healing, the bleeding has stopped. It appears less red, less deep, tendons and vessels knitting back together. Castiel is grateful, but he still covers the open injury. He won’t take any chances with Dean’s child. 

Castiel was created to be a weapon, a soldier. He was designed for combat, not for gentleness. But on the shore of a riverbank, in a space that is neither heaven nor earth, he finds within himself a depth of compassion and tenderness, which he had never before had occasion to share nor, indeed, realized he possessed. 

*  
Dean does not know what to do with her. He watches Emma closely, enraptured by her presence, but there is a tightness to his jaw that belies the longing in his eyes, and Castiel knows that Dean feels guilty. Emma also seems unsure what to do with Dean. She’s frightened of him. Her heart rate spikes whenever Dean gets to close, and she often unconsciously and immediately reaches out for Castiel both spiritually and physically. He offers her what comfort he can: wrapping her in his arms and his wings. She views Dean as a threat, a danger, and Castiel is certain that, beneath the fear, lurks resentment, even anger. Emma does not express those emotions readily, her thoughts and memories are a jumbled mess, erratic, blurred and overlain with fear, but Castiel knows that they fuel, at least in part, her visceral reaction to Dean. 

Castiel frequently finds himself between the two of them, and it is not the most comfortable place to be. Castiel loves Dean. He has no trouble admitting this to himself. At this point in his existence, Castiel recognizes that his love for Dean as a fundamental aspect of his being. Castiel is growing to love this child, as well, more quickly than he could have ever imagined. It is so strange to have a small person, a being full of potential and goodness look up to him, rely upon him, trust him. It is by turns humbling, endearing, and terrifying. It is not easy to be between (sometimes literally, physically) the two people about whom he arguably cares the most in all of creation. 

Emma needs him, needs to feel that she is protecting him, needs to know that Castiel is with her. That means that, at times, Castiel must prioritize her over Dean. Emma needs him more in this sense, she is vulnerable, small, defenseless, and so Castiel cares for her, offers her a hand to hold and a side to sleep against, the cadence of his voice, the shelter of his spirit as she needs it. He longs for Dean’s closeness, but he thinks that, perhaps, Dean is glad that Castiel is caring for his child in a way that he cannot. 

*

Emma unites Castiel and Benny. Where Dean had inspired rivalry between them, each of them vying for his favor, both thinking they knew best; Emma requires their collaboration, she needs different things from both of them, and they each have a space in her world, any aggression between the two of them inspires insecurity, uncertainty, and neither Benny nor Castiel wants that. In fact, both of them develop an almost instantaneous fondness and protectiveness for her that serves to promote a change of opinion from both sides and garner a trust and almost friendship between the two rivals. Castiel learns through quick observation that Benny’s affection for Emma is genuine and, therefore, begins to believe that is capable of altruistic motives. Benny begins to believe Castiel’s story about hiding in Purgatory to protect Dean, and he comes to realize that the angel isn’t just a ‘selfish prick with a stick up his ass,’ he actually forgives him for being a dick to his best friend. Instead of bickering, they begin to get to know and help one another as they care for the child in their midst. 

Benny has experience with children, experience that Castiel clearly lacks. Benny chuckles at times when Castiel stumbles in his attempts as a caregiver, but Castiel barely works up a glare before Benny moves to show him something new or offer an anecdote or experience that helps Castiel find his path again. 

Castiel learns by observation and by slow explanations while they walk through the wood. Benny teaches Castiel how to braid hair, he demonstrates playfulness—that Emma enjoys being tossed into the air and caught, that she likes to climb and jump, that riding on Benny’s shoulders when she’s tired or when she’s not, gives her a sense of grandeur and protection and adventure all at once. Relationship between caregivers and children can include what Benny refers to as ‘romping’—tickling and hair ruffling and rubbing noses—Castiel understood that these were human behaviors, but he’s never had occasion to practice them. He learns from Benny when and how to deflect and distract when Emma’s fears escalate; he learns that it is important to make her feel useful, included; he learns that she enjoys being sung to and spoken to and touched. 

Castiel does not have much of a singing voice in this form, but he tries. Emma appreciates the effort. She prefers to sleep curled against Castiel’s side. She uses his coat as a blanket and his ribs as a pillow, she calms considerably and burrows more tightly into his side when he hums off tune. She listens with rapt attention when he tells her stories. Things he’s seen. The life he has lived. His adventures with Dean and Sam. She peppers him with questions: have you ever actually been in the ocean? Did you know what the fish would grow to be? Why is that your favorite heaven? Can I go there some day? Where does your sword go when it’s not here? Can I fly too one day? Do all angels look like you? What is it like to have so many brothers and sisters? Castiel smiles and answers slowly and patiently, with many details. Emma often considers his responses with a solemn face before launching into a slew of follow up questions. She’s inquisitive and curious and Castiel enjoys these exchanges as they wander through theology, physics, history, linguistics. 

Benny gives him a nod of approval when he observes these interactions. Dean gives them a look of pure unadulterated longing that makes Castiel’s heart twist in his chest. 

*  
Amazonian children are born with capacity for all language, a gift of the goddess. This coupled with a natural aptitude for combat and strategy are present from the start. They require fostering, development, and focus to mature. Emma is a capable child, Castiel knows, she is determined, she is smart, she will grow to be an impressive force, if given the chance. Castiel wants very much to give it to her. 

Teaching Emma is different than drilling his siblings in battlefield tactics. It is different from showing Sam the proper was to conduct an angelic summoning or Dean how to banish members of the Host. It differs too from the discussions he’s had with Bobby Singer on the finer points of quantum physics. 

Emma wants to learn and Castiel wants to teach her. There is rapt attention carved into every inch of her features when he demonstrates, for instance, how to draw sigils in the earth. She follows his movements and she bites on her bottom lip, concentrating. 

“Like this?” she will ask in Castiel’s first tongue when she’s finished. 

Castiel smiles softly, “Very good, little one,” he will tell her, and Emma’s face bursts into a sunny smile. Teeth flashing white in the gloom, eyes glowing with pride. Castiel’s wings flare and his grace warms in the face of her accomplishment. 

They go in the order that Castiel deems most useful, practical: banishing sigils first, so she can send danger away in a pinch—that is most important in their transient life—then protective sigils, markings to ward her from angel, demon, monster, man; they move on to summoning markings; then charms, for health, purity, safety; charms against fire or flood, charms for bountiful harvests and charms to prevent decay. 

Emma learns to write the alphabet in Enochian, Arabic, Aramaic, Sumatran, Hebrew, Egyptian, Babylonian, Greek, Latin, Gaelic, Welsh, Japanese, Turkish. When they have gotten through written language, Castiel teaches her the markings used in those that have no written form. They spend a day speaking Navajo, and another in languages that were once spoken along the Ivory Coast of Africa. He teaches her the foundations so that she will understand how the sigils work, how spells function, how they are woven with language and power and intent. If she knows the most essential building blocks, she can carve and dismantle and read in a language that goes beyond the mortal plane. 

Like her father and her uncle, Emma has a quick mind. Once they’ve gone over all of the sigils that Castiel thinks she will need, she begins to play with them. Modifying, collaborating, combining, tweaking. Castiel is at first puzzled, but then impressed by her ingenuity. He reminds her to be careful, always. That words have power, and these more than most.

Castiel teaches her Enochian jokes and riddles (Emma enjoys the latter rather than the former, she relishes the challenge of it). Castiel teaches her Enochian poetry. Castiel shares these things from his—if not his childhood, Castiel was never truly a child, nor an adolescent—past, his early life, that he has shared with no one before. It’s a strange thing, this is the first time that he has never before been compelled to share these memories, but he wishes to impart them to her, and Emma wants to learn them. 

This is not to say that neither Dean nor Benny teach her anything; they do. Benny teaches Emma to sing, he speaks with her in French and Creole. He teaches her legends and he shows her, when Dean is not watching, how to use her teeth and claws to their full potential. He teaches Emma that touch need not be frightening. He teaches her how to smile. He teaches her to feel safe. Dean once taught Emma to be watchful, wary, now he shows her how to play Tic-tac-toe. How to accurately throw projectiles at a much larger opponents. He is slowly teaching her that people can change. 

Castiel cannot speak for the other two, but for him, there is something almost magical in spending time with Emma, teaching her what he knows, giving her tools with which she can better defend herself, divert herself, be herself. There have been few things so rewarding in his life as the smile Emma dons when she learns something new. 

*

Emma has dealt with monsters for her entire life, but she has not dealt with Leviathan. Those abominations, Castiel brings to her. After realizing that Emma was attached to him, there had been a tentative agreement not to speak of leaving again. He didn’t want to upset or alarm her. But things change the day that the Leviathan catch up with them.

He loses sight of her in the melee. Castiel is bombarded on all sides, he has just enough time to try to lead the majority of the monsters away from the rest of the group, and he is not fully successful in this. A short time later (though it feels much longer) while corpses lie smoking around him, and Benny emerges wiping gore from his cheek, he sees Dean carrying Emma. That sight is arresting for two reasons: the first of which is that seeing Dean holding Emma and Emma holding back causes Castiel’s grace to flare with something like joy, longing, and bright, nearly blinding affection; but this is subsumed quickly with the realization that Emma clings to Dean because she is in shock, because she is injured, that it is his, Castiel’s, fault. The happiness he had so briefly enjoyed turns bitter, sour, twisted and burned in his chest. 

He did this. He almost killed them both He needs to leave, for their safety. Castiel is cursed. As long as he lives, those around him will suffer for his errors. He hardens his resolve. He speaks out of anger and fear. 

The argument with Dean is loud and frustrating. They are both glaring, stubborn, and Emma is the one who breaks their stalemate. 

“Castiel,” she says plaintively in Enochian, “Don’t go.”

He focuses on her when she stumbles towards him. 

She frowns, working her jaw, trying to convey what she feels, “You are my family.”

She uses an old word. One of the oldest words spoken. It is a word that holds power, a word that Castiel has not heard in thousands of years, and one that has never been directed at him. The word is a claim. It signifies a tie born of choice, a kinship connection deeper than blood, stronger. Castiel has never been called family, not like this. Dean and Sam and Bobby have never said aloud that they consider him as such. Perhaps if they had, if Castiel had known years ago, he…it doesn’t matter now. Castiel has been called family by his brothers, but that is family of obligation, indifference, obedience, not affection, not adoption, not choice. Emma’s claim is something different entirely and it leaves Castiel frozen. Gaping, at her. His wings stretch wide, his grace bursts and sparks, his eyes flown wide in panic, he looks to Dean as if for guidance, though, or course, Dean has no notion what his child has just said. Castiel is held in thrall by Emma. 

“Little one,” he tries, “Emma, I—” am not worthy of that honor, he wants to say, am not deserving of your trust; I will only hurt you. 

“You are my family. Please, I need you,” she continues, her face tense, her eye determined, pleading, “We need you. Please, don’t go.”

Castiel does not know what to say, what to do, but something deep inside of him is breaking, broken and he knows, irrefutably that he cannot reject this claim. He picks her up, holds her. 

“All right,” he tells her, “little one, all right. I will stay.”

*

Dean is angry. Livid might be a better adjective upon closer consideration. After Castiel and Benny have finally managed to lull Emma to sleep through not a small amount of cooperation, Dean reappears with rage and frustration coming off of him in waves. He is tormented. 

Benny leaves, Castiel wraps his wings and his arm more tightly around Emma, and he braces himself for the onslaught. Dean yells at Castiel, and Castiel hisses back. Can’t Dean see that he is trying to atone? That he is trying to make things right? That he is endangering them every second he is in their company? That he doesn’t deserve, for even a moment, the amount of comfort and affection that he feels for the man before him and the small child tucked close against his side? 

“I need to atone for what I’ve done; to my siblings, to the earth…” he glances to the side, to the cave entrance, away from the shining light of Dean’s soul, the weight of his eyes. 

He can feel the rapid beating of his borrowed heart, the way that his grace twists and turns over and under and through itself anxious, guilty, afraid “…to you.”  
The hand on his shoulder is unexpected. It’s warm and steady; the thrum of Dean pulse and the beat of his soul resonate through Castiel at the touch. He does his best to repress a shiver, to keep his gaze averted.

“And what?” Dean says, voice thick, “You think staying here is gonna make it up to anyone?”

Castiel has been so certain for so long that it would. That staying here, alone, isolated, unable to hurt anyone, unable to bring death and destruction upon them, would be best. He is an abomination, he shouldn’t even be alive, and he belongs here in this hell. Isolation would not in and of itself be a punishment, but separation from Dean would. It is one he deserves, but…the hand on his shoulder, the pulse of longing, it’s strong; it’s confusing him, making him waver. 

“Well, it isn’t,” Dean practically growls, sorrow giving way to anger, “you make mistakes, fine; you think you’re the only one? I—” he inhales deeply and exhales, “I’ve fucked up, Cas, I’ve fucked up a lot…I let down the people I love more times than…The things that I’ve done, Cas, there aren’t words, there’s not enough fucking penance in the world,” Dean voice breaks, Castiel doesn’t move, is afraid to, “But you know what I don’t do? I don’t just throw my hands up and go fucking check out and pout about it—”

“I would hardly call this pouting,” Cas interjects, partially to ‘lighten the mood’ and partly because the phrasing cuts. He is not a child having a temper tantrum because he tripped and fell; his a eons old being who is doing penance for destroying his own people and the lives of those he cares about most.

“Semantics,” Dean rebuffs, “It’s a fucking cop out. It isn’t gonna help anyone. Not a fucking soul. It isn’t gonna bring your siblings back; it’s not gonna fix Sam, it’s not gonna help me, or Emma. It’s just gonna fuck everyone up more,” Dean sounds like he might be fighting tears and Castiel’s heart twists, “you think that what? I’m just gonna leave you here and fucking take Emma to Disney World and fucking forget about you? You think that I’d be okay out there—that she’d be okay—knowing that you’re rotting in this fucking pit?”

Cas’ jaw twitches, his arm around Emma tightens, his wings flutter and flare with both discomfort and the desire to wrap fiercely around Dean, pull him close, protect him. 

“Well we wouldn’t,” Dean’s voice is graveled and harsh, “You’re coming with us whether you fucking like it or not because otherwise, so help me god, Cas I will march my way back here and drag you out by your fucking wings.”

He doesn’t know what to do, to say, he’s frozen by the strength of Dean’s conviction. Dean has always been a man of strong convictions, but Castiel never expected…He never expected, never dared even to imagine, that he would be one of them. This is a threat that Dean would make to Sam, to Bobby, and Castiel is…Castiel is nothing, a betrayer, a broken shell of an angel, a poor imitation of a human being, he is nothing, but Dean…Dean speaks as though he thinks that Castiel is something, something precious, something good, something worth fighting for. It’s like he’s been doused with cold water: Dean would come back for him. He would drag him out of here. Not because it is his duty to do so, not out of a sense of obligation, but because he would miss Castiel, because he wants him. Dean continues speaking.

“…You want to make peace, fine, you get up off your ass, you take responsibility for your actions and you do what you can to make up for it, but you’re gonna do it on Earth and you’re gonna do it with us. You hearin’ me, man?” 

Castiel sits silently, ruminating, turning this strange revelation over and over in his mind, feeling a warmth blossom in the deepest heart of him, rippling out and through. It’s a wonder that Dean can’t feel it, the love, coming off of Castiel in waves; Emma, she nuzzles her face into Cas’ ribs and settles again. 

A muscle in Cas’ jaw jumps, he swallow audibly, bracing himself, and he turns to face Dean. Dean’s face is a mask of pain, of desperation. For once, his face matches the longing in his soul, and for perhaps the first time, Castiel understands that he himself is the object of that longing. The Dean wants him, that Dean accepts him. Castiel searches Dean’s eyes, which are boring into his own. When he speaks, his words are stilted and broken. 

“I’m sorry for having wronged you.”

Something in Dean’s face fractures, a sliver of relief followed by a plea, “So make it up to me; come home.”

Castiel has never had a home. He’s never dared to want one. Not once. Dean has lived in many places, but he has not had one he called home since he was a child younger than Emma is now. Home is a feeling for Dean, home is a place in Dean’s heart, a place by his side. Castiel wavers, and slowly, he nods.

Dean sighs, “Okay, good.”

Dean closes his eyes and leans his head back, Castiel watches the fight drain out of him. He contemplates what Dean has said, about making things right in a smaller way, in seeking forgiveness, in caring for this child, in being by his side, in making a small part of the universe free of the pain that he would cause by remaining here. 

“What did she say to you?” Dean asks eventually, turning to look at Castiel.

Castiel shifts very slightly, glances down at Emma. He repeats the words that they exchanged earlier, and he looks over to Dean embarrassed to tell him that the child who bears his blood, who resembles him so strongly in body and spirit, has claimed Castiel as her family before she would claim him. He cannot, however, crush the small thrill of joy and pride he feels at Emma’s claim upon him. He is honored by it. 

“Roughly translated, it refers to a kinship tie of choice.”

Dean smiles, but his eyes are tight and pained, “She called you her family.”

Castiel nods, aching for Dean, “She said that she needed me.”

Dean gazes at Emma, and he smiles softly at her, “That’s my girl.”

Castiel watches as Dean bites his lip, he follows the motion as Dean moves his hand from its place on Castiel’s shoulder to take his hand in his own. His breath steals in his chest. Dean’s hand is calloused and scarred and beautiful and perfect as it slides against Castiel’s palm. Dean twines their fingers together and squeezes gently. Castiel is almost afraid to move, afraid that he will break this spell. Dean’s cheeks are a faint pink in the shadowed cave, and Castiel’s smile stretches wide enough that it causes a slight discomfort in his cheeks. He squeezes Dean’s fingers back. 

Dean stares right at Castiel, with their fingers laced together, resting on top of Castiel’s knee. 

“She’s not the only one,” he offers, eyes intent, face serious, words sincere, “who needs you.”

Everything that Castiel is flares up within him, radiant with joy, effervescent and overcome with love so fiercely that he aches with it. He doesn’t stop himself then, he spreads his grace, he wraps a wing around Dean, he holds him. Dean grips Castiel’s hand, and Castiel realizes that he hadn’t responded with words.

“You know that, right?”

Cas smiles and he squeezes back, Dean’s sincerity is writ large on his features, in his words, in his very soul. Dean is not speaking of needing Castiel as a tool, nor to serve as a deus ex machina. He is not trying to milk him for knowledge and discard him. Like his daughter, Dean is making a claim. A claim of kinship, a claim of choice. Dean says that he needs Castiel, but he means so much more, and Castiel is honored, is joyous. 

If Castiel ever doubted before, he knows now, “I know.”

That night, Castiel watches over them both, Dean and Emma, as they sleep on either side of him. Dean rests his head on Castiel’s shoulder and holds his hand even in sleep. Emma rests tucked beneath his arm. Castiel wraps them both in the circle of his wings, the protection of his grace, and he thinks, this is my family.  
*  
“Have you ever been on a boat?” Emma asks as they move through the fetid forest. 

She holds Castiel’s hand today, as they walk a small distance behind Dean and ahead of Benny. 

“Once,” Castiel replies, “a shrimping boat, but I was not conscious at the time.”

“Oh,” Emma frowns thoughtfully at the ground.

“I’ve never been on a boat,” she continues, a line between her eyebrows, “Benny says that he’ll take me on one someday. He said that I can be his first mate.”

Castiel smiles very gently, and squeezes her fingers, “I’m sure that you would fill that post admirably.”

Emma grins up at him. Her resemblance to Dean in that moment is uncanny. 

“I have never been on a boat,” Castiel continues, “but I have seen many.”

He tells her about Egyptians sailing down the Nile, and Nordic ships on frigid seas. He describes in vivid detail Venetian canals and shipping patterns in the Mediterranean. Emma’s eyes are wide and round, and her smile widens when Benny interjects, talking about tug boats and steam ships and fishing. 

At some point during their debate Benny scoops Emma up so that she rides high on his shoulders. It’s from there she asks if Castiel can come on the boat too.

Benny shoots Castiel a discerning look, “If he wants to.”

“You want to, right, Castiel?”

Castiel smiles, “Very much.”

*

Dean and Emma play at throwing stars, while Benny and Castiel watch on. 

“Look out for them,” Castiel says as he watches Dean correct Emma’s grip.

Benny shifts, the two of them sit close together, but neither looks at the other. 

“You plannin’ on runnin’ off again, cause that ain’t gonna work out too well,” he says sounding almost bored, but Castiel feels him tense, ready for a fight. Benny may not like him for his own sake, but he would move heaven and earth for both Dean and Emma. Castiel knows this, respects it. 

“I am not,” he says solemnly.  
Dean smiles at Emma, and he catches Castiel’s eyes from afar, as if to share the moment.

“You and I both know that that portal was not designed to ferry angels…the chances are very slim that I will make it out of here, as you have been kind enough to remind us all frequently.”

He glances at Benny from the corner of his eye; he at least looks somewhat contrite. 

“I want to make sure that someone will be able to look after them, if I don’t…make it.”

Castiel is surprised by the brief but strong grip on his right shoulder. Benny squeezes and let’s go. 

“I’ll watch out for ’em, I promise, but it ain’t gonna be the same thing.”

A tired smile briefly flashes across Catiel’s face, “Thank you.”

*

He anoints Emma with earth and water and blood. A blessing and spell, a prayer. She stands patiently while Castiel etches the sigils onto her skin. The paste is sticky but infused with power. He hopes that it will be enough. 

Dean stands next to them, and Benny a bit farther away keeping watch. 

Castiel speaks in Enochian. He knows that Dean thinks that it’s part of the ritual, but it’s a different kind of pact that Castiel makes. 

“Little one, I swear to you, that I will do everything that I can to get you through this, and to go with you,” he pauses, Emma doesn’t reply. She doesn’t blink. She follows the movement of his fingers as he draws markings on her arms, the backs of her hands, the tops of her feet.

“I cannot promise that it will work, that I will be able to go with you,” the words hurt; Castiel’s throat burns and his wings fold forward keeping Emma in an invisible embrace. This is harder than he imagined it would be; it aches.

“If I don’t make it, you need to understand that it is not your fault, and it is not because I did not want to go, it is because I couldn’t.”

He brushes his thumb against her forehead, draws marks on her cheeks and nose.

“You are my family,” he tells her, using the same word by which Emma called him.

Her eyes flash open, her lower lip wobbles, and her soul flashes a blinding white. 

“Dean has wronged you, Emma, he has made mistakes, and I do not ask you to forgive him, or to trust him,” a tear falls from Emma’s eyes, and Castiel wipes it away leaving a small track on her cheek, “but he will try to care for you when you get through to earth, please, let him do that. You will need an adult to watch out for you, to make sure you don’t come to harm. Try.”

“I want you to come, Cas,” she whispers, another tear falls.

Something in Castiel’s chest rips violently apart, “I want to come, too.”

He finishes anointing her, and he presses a kiss to the crown of her head when he is done. 

“I love you, child. Be well.”

*

Dean refuses to let Castiel say goodbye. It hurts, the rebuff. Dean is stubborn, he is foolish, he is headstrong and beautiful. He doesn’t understand, doesn’t want to believe that there won’t be time for this later. 

Castiel places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, tries to pull him aside, while Benny says goodbye to Emma. 

“Whatever you need to tell me, you can tell me when we get out of this fucking hellhole.”

Castiel searches Dean’s eyes, looks long and hard at his face, brushes his soul with a tendril of grace, etching every detail into his memory. I love you, he wants to say, I have love you so long, and I did not know what love was until I met you. I would die for you. I would live for you. I want to live with you. Forgive me. 

Dean will not let him, so Castiel swallows it down, let’s go.

Benny nods at Castiel before his soul is assumed by Dean. Emma climbs into Castiel’s arms for the last leg of the journey. Dean takes the lead. 

Castiel’s graces roils nervously. His wings flutter and flare restless, alert. There is a knot in his throat, a pain in his stomach. Carrying Emma helps somewhat, her weight in his arms, the warmth of her soul close by, grounds him in a way. 

The Leviathan attack on the very threshold of the portal. They come in droves, ruthless, intent. Castiel’s first instinct is to protect. Shield Emma with his body, use himself as a barrier before they can get at Dean. There are Leviathan at his back, at his sides, they’re multiplying. He has a split second to decide. They can’t make it this way. Dean starts to move away from the portal to help Castiel. Emma struggles to be put down to aid in the battle. Castiel does his best to fight one handed as something deep inside of him breaks, he knows what he needs to do. Emma will not make it out of here without Dean. She needs his blood connection to be accepted by the portal, to have any chance of escape. Dean won’t leave without Castiel, not like this, not unless...

Castiel slices into a Leviathan, and squeezes Emma tightly for the last time, a goodbye. Then he turns, stopping Dean in his tracks as he thrusts Emma into his arms and pushes them both backwards towards the portal. 

Dean’s eyes fly wide, shocked, angry, panicked, “Cas, what the hell are you doing!?” 

Emma screams, twisting madly in Dean’s hold. Castiel spares a moment to look at them both, wishing he could go with them. Wishing things were different. Maybe this is how it was meant to be: an angel forming a family against impossible odds, only to die for them. 

He cannot think of a better reason to lay down his life. 

“I’ll hold them off,” Castiel shouts. He thinks he understands, finally, why they call it heart break, something is broken in him and it aches, a festering wound left open to the elements, “I’ll hold them all off, take Emma and get out of here.”

“Cas, no fucking way,” Dean yells, but Castiel knows that the portal is drawing him even as he hesitates. 

“Caaassss,” Emma’s call is like a knife to his heart.

“No, Cas,” Dean’s desperation wrecks him.

“Dean,” Castiel stands straighter, bracing himself, it hurts, it hurts so deeply. He might die from this feeling alone if the Leviathan would leave him in peace to do so. 

Dean struggles towards him, the Leviathan move closer, if Castiel doesn’t do something they will all die. He can’t let that happen. He needs them to survive, Dean and Emma. If they make it out, this will all be worth it. 

He loves them. That’s enough. 

Dean’s face is wracked with grief, Emma’s with fear, Castiel cannot waste any more time. 

He pushes them with the strength of heaven in his arms. 

“Go.”

Dean falls back through the portal, his face a mask of agony. Emma’s expression mirrors Dean’s, she screams, and then there is silence. 

They made it. He let’s go of a breath, and then he turns to face the fight.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this one for a while, I hope that you enjoyed it. Comments are always appreciated. Thank you for taking the time to read.


End file.
